


Do Not Meddle In The Affairs Of Dragons (For You Are Squishy And Hoardable)

by Juan_Pujol_Garcia, Sinna



Series: The Inherent Romanticism of Dragons [7]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24548800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juan_Pujol_Garcia/pseuds/Juan_Pujol_Garcia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinna/pseuds/Sinna
Summary: In which a dragon unwittingly (and somewhat unknowingly) acquires an archivist.
Relationships: Ivy Alexandria/Ashes O'Reilly
Series: The Inherent Romanticism of Dragons [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832185
Comments: 26
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

“ _Ivy Alexandria, you will forget yourself and be reduced to nothing but a blank slate_.”

Ivy wakes up. She sits up, wincing slightly at the way her entire body aches. She looks around. Wherever she is, she is alone. It seems to be a forest - bushy undergrowth, tall trees, faint birdsong. Ivy should know where she is and why. She tries to recall, but comes up blank. All she remembers are the words echoing through her head. 

It seems that she has been cursed. That is. A Problem. However, it is a problem that will be best addressed once she’s found shelter. Forests at night are not safe places for humans. Ivy pauses, examining that thought. Okay. The name Ivy Alexandria - hers, apparently, she Knows that it is hers - belongs to a human. See, she’s figuring things out already. A list of things she knows: her Name, her species, what a forest is, that forests can be dangerous, and how to identify approaching dusk by the angle of the sunlight through the trees. 

Ivy glances down at herself. Dark red dress, wool judging by the texture. Light grey tunic, similarly woolen. Brown boots, probably leather. Leather belt, with pouches. She shifts to start searching her bags and pockets, pausing when she notices how the movement shifts dangling weights on her ears. She raises her right hand and finds a heart-shaped metal earring. Ivy traces her fingers over the subtle engravings. Iron, for protection, with shapes she can identify as defensive spells etched into the metal. Ivy sighs, hand falling limp at her side. Whoever did this to her must be quite powerful, to simply bypass such precautions.

Her pockets and bags contain a sheathed dagger, several sheets of blank hemp paper, a metal pen, and black ink. Ivy’s mind informs her that these are vital tools for an Archivist. Which she apparently is. While that is good to know, they are not exactly the best tools for survival. At least she seems to be uninjured, save minor bruising consistent with crumpling unconscious to the ground. 

Ivy stands, studying forest around her. No obvious signs of human habitation, no sound of running water. Not a great start. She sighs and starts walking west. Might as well go the direction that will prolong the rapidly-fading sunlight.

-

As Ivy walks, her mind wanders to her current magical predicament. She has her name, and nothing else. Practically speaking, the woman who entered this forest for her own reasons is now dead, and Ivy has taken her place. However, she can’t help but think the curse was somewhat...sloppy? Ivy does not remember anything that would support that judgment, but it persists nonetheless. If her attacker truly wanted to wipe her mind, they should not have left her Name. Furthermore, she does know things. She may not know herself, but her mind seems to contain information when prompted by the appropriate stimuli. 

She ruminates on that, maintaining a steady pace. No point wearing herself out in a panic. Such a curse...it seems evident that she is meant to suffer, to suffocate under her own uncertainty. Ivy grimaces at the thought. Unacceptable. She will not give her unknown enemy the satisfaction of victory. There are worse things to be than a palimpsest. 

By the time the sun sets, Ivy has taken 6,572 steps. 2.6 miles. When she makes a mental note of that, Ivy pauses. She was not counting steps. How did - that does not seem like a normal thing, to simply Know how many steps were taken in 53 minutes without counting. Neither is calculating the distance or the time, from the steps taken and the delay between sunset, and _what the fuck is going on_.

Ivy can feel her heart racing and her breaths growing shorter. She distantly identifies these as symptoms of panic. It’s an oddly familiar sensation. She leans against a tree and carefully counts through each inhale and exhale. It takes her far too long (235 painfully slow seconds _stop doing that_ ) to calm, but she does eventually relax.

This is an...unexpected development. Ivy runs through her memories. It should be a manageable task, as she has existed for approximately one hour, but - as she anxiously pulls the images to mind, the details are far too clear. She can clearly recall the bark patterns of the tree she passed 17 minutes ago, and the precise notes of the birdsong from 41.5 minutes ago, and the exact color of the sunlight glinting off of the rocks when she woke up. She remembers **everything**.

At this point, Ivy notices that she is laughing. In hysterics may be more accurate, actually, she decides as she tries and fails to make herself stop. Nothing but a blank slate, indeed. Slates. Are used for records. She now has, apparently, a perfect memory of everything she experiences - everything except who she used to be.

Ivy allows herself fifteen minutes of panic.

After those fifteen minutes pass, Ivy exhales shakily, wiping the tears from her eyes. The full moon is bright, so she resumes walking. This is fine. She knows herself, and this side-effect could prove useful. An archivist can only benefit from a good memory, after all. She just needs to find an archive.

-

Ivy gets lucky. It’s not even six full hours before she finds a path. However slowly those hours seemed to pass, it could have been so much worse. Her increased pace is probably due to the path’s better visibility and terrain, not the psychological effects of relief. Twenty minutes later she sees the first signs of agriculture. Ivy is reasonably certain she’s never been brought to tears by the sight of potato plants before, but there’s a first time for everything.

The village she’s found appears to be moderately large. Ivy is sure it’s a lovely place, but she’s admittedly rather distracted trying to figure out how to go about asking for help. These people live next to the sort of forest where major curses get inflicted. They’re probably rightfully wary of strangers showing up at two in the morning, regardless of their apparent humanity.

It occurs to Ivy that she doesn’t actually know how suspicious she looks. That’s not ideal, so she carefully approaches one of the buildings to see her reflection in one of the windows. It’s not the best visual, but nothing about her face pings as Wrong, so that’s a good sign. She frowns at her hair. Bright red is, unfortunately, distinctive. She doesn’t exactly have anything on hand with which to hide it - nothing that wouldn’t obviously be a shitty disguise. At least it’s not blatantly non-human. 

It might be safer to wait until sunrise. But Ivy is hungry, and now that she’s no longer focused on walking the chill refuses to be ignored, so she’s taking the risk. Now how to minimize that risk? Ivy wanders the streets for a bit, trying to figure out her best option. Her eyes are drawn to one house with a particularly large herbal garden. Ivy kneels to study some of the plants. Raspberries, black snakeroot, and - there, of course. Pennyroyal. Ivy stands, brushing off her skirt. A midwife is probably her safest bet. She approaches the threshold, steels herself, and knocks.

After a few minutes of knocking, a middle-aged woman opens the door. Her tired expression turns to alert concern when she sees Ivy. That’s a good sign, right? Probably not a bad one at least. Ivy opens her mouth to greet her, to ask for help, but the words refuse to form. She can speak, she knows it, of all the fucking times to go nonverbal why _now_ -

The woman has mercy on her. “You seem lost. Come inside, you can rest here.” She ushers Ivy inside. Ivy is too surprised to resist as she is wrapped in a blanket and led to a comfortable chair. The next few minutes pass in a numb blur. Ivy comes back to herself when a bowl of warm soup is carefully placed in her hands. She glances up and meets her host’s keen gaze. The woman smiles slightly at her. “There you are. Back with us, then?”

Ivy nods.

“Good. I’m Nerissa. Can you tell me what happened?” At Ivy’s blank expression, she continues. “Something must have happened. Ordinary visitors don’t turn up on my doorstep in the middle of the night.”

Ivy stares down at the bowl. This time, the words come when she tries to speak. “I don’t know. I don’t. Remember anything, before waking up in the forest this evening.” She really doesn’t want to continue on this topic. “Why did you let me in?”

From the deliberate pause, Ivy is certain Nerissa noticed her topic change. “What do you mean? I wasn’t going to leave you out there when you clearly needed help.”

“But - you don’t know me, and you didn’t ask my name or do any tests to make sure I didn’t mean you harm or-” Ivy cuts herself off. She will not convince this surprisingly generous woman to retract her hospitality. Ivy sneaks a glance at Nerissa. While her expression is still mostly concerned, there’s a hint of something else. Amusement? What could be funny about this?

“We’re lucky enough to not have to worry about such things, here.” Ivy stares at her, baffled. Nerissa laughs quietly. “A dragon lives in the mountain a mile or so south of here. Not many creatures are willing to risk their wrath.”

Ivy’s mind races as she eats. A dragon. That is certainly unexpected. A dragon means a hoard. What’s the difference between a hoard and an archive, really? Ivy may not know much about dragons, but she knows they are very shrewd and very powerful. They aren’t known for thinking the same way that humans do - but then, it’s not as though Ivy is in line with standard human thought patterns herself. If this dragon is magnanimous enough to offer protection to local villagers, they are likely open to negotiations...and, of course. Dragons are Old Magic. Ivy raises a hand to fiddle with her earrings again. Old Magic is the only thing that might be powerful enough to protect her. Her enemies are complete unknowns, they are powerful, and they could at any moment decide they’re not content with simply wiping her memories.

What are her other options, anyway? Archivist is a rather specialized position, even without the complications of curse-induced amnesia. A dragon’s hoard is likely to be more interesting than some nobleman’s library, and less prone to political intrigue. It would, in all likelihood, be a rather isolated life...but Ivy finds she doesn’t mind that thought. One step at a time, though. For now, food and rest. Once she’s slept, she can figure out how to convince a dragon they should let her organize their hoard.

\- 

Ivy awakens at the sound of distant voices. It’s midmorning, and Ivy has a Plan. She thanks Nerissa for her hospitality, explaining that she has a quest to continue and won’t be staying longer. Ivy receives a skeptical look, a bag of rations, and well-wishes for her journey. She sets off down the southern path towards the dragon’s mountain.

Only three quarters of a mile out of the village, with the cave entrance clearly visible, Ivy halts as a peculiar shiver goes down her spine. Ivy frowns. That’s an unusual reaction. She takes a few steps back and the feeling stops. It feels almost like...the spiderweb she walked into last night, but the path is visibly clear.

Something about this feels familiar. Ivy sighs and decides to go with her instincts. Whatever those are. She sits cross-legged off to the side of the path, right before the invisible boundary. Closing her eyes wouldn’t be right, but maybe...Ivy lets her eyes unfocus, gazing blankly at the path in front of her.

It should probably be surprising when a shape fades into view where there was only empty air. But it isn’t. What is surprising is that the shape _moves_. Ivy flinches back slightly. Most wards are not strong enough to manifest as a creature, but naturally a dragon would have the best. Ivy notes that she has apparently received some education on magical theory - further supported by the charmed earrings - and seems to possess some form of the Sight. Interesting. Something to ponder later, when she’s not facing down the physical embodiment of an absurdly powerful defensive spell.

The ward creature in front of her - meows?? Is it a cat? Ivy has never seen a cat, but she is positive that they are supposed to be quadrupedal, not...tentacular. Okay. Remain calm. There is no reason the - embodiment? - physical manifestation? - of a spell would be restricted to mundane forms.

“Hello. Are you the guardian of this mountain?”

The animal oozes towards her slightly. Ivy gasps as its mind makes contact with hers. _Yes! Guardnotifywarn of thieves_.

The feeling is strange, but not bad. She processes impressions of curiosity, of friendliness, of surprise that she can see or bothered to speak to it. Nothing threatening. She smiles slightly, careful to not display teeth. “It’s good that I am not a thief, then.”

_Notthief, yes. No greedintentschemes detected. Visitor?_

“Not exactly. I am an archivist. I would like to…” She pauses, struggling with phrasing.

_Makehome? Become clowderfamilyhoard?_

Ivy is somewhat taken aback by that description, but. It’s not wrong. “...yes. That is my goal. Will you let me enter to pursue it?”

 _Yes. You are welcome here._ This last message comes through with surprising clarity, borne of a ritualistic weight.

Ivy inclines her head politely. “Thank you.”

The creature purrs happily as it dissipates. Ivy stands and cautiously steps forward. She still feels the wards settling over her, but it’s softer this time - something protective and warm, not an unpleasant shock. She pauses to fully record the sensation, then continues up the mountain towards the dragon’s cave.

The dragon is surprisingly close to the entrance, curled up asleep on a massive pile of gold and gems. Ivy takes a moment to study her new host. Brilliant red scales, with occasional black and gold accents. Extremely shiny, moderately sized, maybe twenty feet or so. Very large and sharp-looking fangs visibly protruding even as they sleep. Ivy nods appreciatively and walks past them into the depths of the cave. Introducing herself before she has evidence of her work has too much potential to backfire. The lair is extensive. Surely she can stay unnoticed long enough to confirm the benefits of having an archivist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ashes catches a thief, and Ivy is introduced to her host.

There is something moving in a distant pile of gold. It's being quiet, but it made the mistake a few hours ago of dropping one of the larger pieces of Ashes' Hoard, and Ashes has been listening to it ever since. They have the time to wait. Interestingly, this thief still hasn't left. Usually, the thieves try to be fast. This one must be looking for something. Ashes stretches their wings, and takes to the air. They land menacingly on a pile of gold, about twenty feet from the ant who dares to enter their sanctuary. "What do you seek, thief?"

The thief freezes and turns to look up at them. "Good afternoon. I am not a thief, but I would like to know the proper title with which to address you."

Ashes stares in confusion. "Bold words for a thief caught red handed." It literally has a piece of Ashes' precious Hoard in its hands. Still, it is a bit interesting. Certainly quite different from the other thieves that have come before. "But I suppose you deserve to know the name of your doom. I am Ashes. And who might you be, little thief? What's your story? If it's interesting enough, I might even remember it."

The thief manages to keep a straight face, displaying no fear. Ashes is rather impressed despite themself. "I am not a thief, I am an archivist. Your archivist, now. Is it acceptable for me to call you Ashes, then?"

"I don't recall asking for the services of an archivist." Admittedly, this is much more fun than usual. Banter is far more entertaining than desperate pleas and attempts to bargain for mercy. Ashes is not entirely sure what an Archivist is, but at least it’s diverting.

"You did not. But you clearly needed one." The archivist waves her hand around the hoard. "This place is a  _ mess _ . As illustrated by the fact that I appointed myself to this position seventy-three days ago and you have only just noticed my presence." She pauses, visibly lost in thought, then curtseys. "I am Ivy Alexandria."

This archivist is either incredibly bold or incredibly foolish, to give one such as Ashes her Name. Apparently the claim to be “their archivist” was genuinely meant. Ashes does not know what to do with that information, so they simply sidestep it for now.

"Seventy-three days ago, you say?" It's... not impossible. They only noticed her today because she dropped something large and heavy. And she does have a point. A dragon's hoard is hardly known for being organized, but it might be nice to be able to find things sometimes. Ashes leaps from their current perch and lands in front of Miss Alexandria. "What are you getting out of this?"

They receive an incredulous look in response. "Disorganized or not, your collection is  _ amazing _ . Some of the historical artefacts here - and your  _ library _ there are so many books and scrolls just scattered around and some of them probably haven't been read by anyone still living, and-" Alexandria breaks off her rambling. "Also. Food and a place to stay, and all that."

Ashes chuckles despite themself. "Where have you been finding food?" Humans are mammals, so they probably eat more regularly, right?

"Many of the thieves you've - I assume eaten? Not enough bones or scorch marks for anything else - left their supplies, including rations. Also, on my way here I. Stayed with one of the locals briefly, and she generously gave me food for my journey."

"Huh. Interesting.” It seems she hasn’t done much exploring in her time here, or has at least remained in the outer areas. Deeper within the cave, they have a perfectly serviceable kitchen which they keep fully stocked. They watch Alexandria fidget with the item in her hands - a sample of embroidered cloth-of-gold - then still.

"So. That's...the situation, I suppose?" For the first time in this conversation, there is a hint of nervousness in her voice.

"What archiving have you done so far?" Ashes asks, curiosity overcoming the desire to destroy the intruder. Seventy-three days seems like enough time to archive something.

"The books, mostly. Consolidating them, seeing which ones require restoration, organizing them by topic and date, and then creating a catalogue." Alexandria begins, apparently automatically, gesturing as she explains. Ashes attempts to not get distracted by the movement of the glittery fabric in her hands. "I've indexed all of the ones I could find without disturbing your primary...pile? Mound? Central chamber. So after books I've begun on the textile arts."

“Could I see this?” Ashes may be genuinely curious about the effects of archiving, but they mostly feel the need to ensure that their hoard is still in good condition.

"I mean, maybe? I'm not technically sure how good your vision is, but I can certainly show you. It is your hoard, after all. I've got the library set up back here." Alexandria turns and heads deeper into the caverns. Ashes notes how confidently she navigates the winding tunnels. Further evidence for her supposed time spent here, among Ashes’s hoard. They ponder this as they follow. 

"It's not. The best, right now. I haven't had the time or apparently the experience to get proper shelves set up, but. Ta-da?" Alexandria waves at the designated library cave. Ashes shrinks down to their human form to examine it. The space is full of stacks of books, set up with no visible rhyme or reason but with clear paths winding between them. None of the stacks are so high as to become unstable, and all the spines are easily legible. Ashes is somewhat reluctantly impressed. Everything seems to be in good condition.

“You said you had a catalogue?”

"Yes, right here." Alexandria walks over to a desk against the wall, laden with several boxes of card catalogue in slight disarray. Ashes follows her and examines the cards.

“Well, this isn't going to work. I can't read this." The cards are not written in Common. The script is vaguely familiar - Ashes has definitely seen it before, and their Hoard may contain some writings in it - but they certainly can’t read it. 

“You - what?” They blink in surprise as Alexandria casually takes the card from their hand and studies it with a frown. "...huh. Apologies. Apparently without sufficient focus I will not write in Common. I'll translate them, then."

Is forgetting what language you’re using a human thing? It doesn’t sound right, but Ashes has never cared and doesn’t know enough to judge for themself. "What languages do you know?" they ask.

"Good question. I have yet to encounter one that I do not comprehend, but cannot provide a thorough list."

That situation  _ definitely _ doesn’t sound normal. Interesting. But potentially beneficial. "Ydych chi'n rhugl yn y Gymraeg?"

Alexandria doesn’t even look at them as she responds, flipping through the cards absent-mindedly. "Mae'n debyg, ie. Byddaf yn ei ychwanegu at y rhestr."

Convenient. It will be nice to have someone who speaks their native language around. “Use that for the catalogue,” they instruct her.

“Understood.” Alexandria has apparently unearthed blank cards from somewhere within the mess of the desk. She sits, apparently ready to dive into translating the catalogue. Ashes watches silently for a few moments.

"There’s a kitchen, if you'd like... actual food," Ashes offers tentatively. "I keep it well stocked." They are not especially familiar with the needs of humans, but surely scavenged thieves’ rations and food given over two months ago are not sufficient.

"Actual food would...probably be good, thank you." Alexandria sets down the cards. "May I ask you to show me?"

"I can do that. We can also get you a bedroom. I don't want you sleeping in my hoard unless you're part of it." They don’t like that she’s apparently been doing so for a while. Sleeping on Hoard is...instinctive. Innate. And definitively Not For Thieves. 

Alexandria tilts her head slightly. "A bed would likely be better for my health, yes. Would you clarify that? Does your. Uhm. Den? Lair? Home? Not count as part of the hoard?"

Ashes laughs. "It would be silly to make a mountain part of my hoard. Not very portable."

Alexandria blinks at them. "Do you migrate? Or travel regularly? The giant pile of gold is not exactly portable, either. I suppose you could melt it all into a more compact mass, but. You'd lose the craftsmanship, and gold is still heavy, and that would be very unwieldy..."

"I'm thinking on a scale of centuries, my dear," Ashes tells her as they start towards the kitchen. "Sometimes places become uninhabitable. Sometimes I want a change of pace."

"I see. That is reasonable. How long have you lived here?" They can hear Ivy following them. Good.

"A few hundred years, give or take." Ashes could answer more specifically, but they like being mysterious and aloof.

"I have no idea whether that is a significant amount of time to you," Ivy admits.

Ashes smirks to themself. Success. Maybe this archivist - this thief that is  _ Theirs _ \- will be worth keeping around.

-

Ivy follows Ashes to an unfamiliar area of the lair, one that resembles a human house. It is dusty and worn, clearly from neglect. Despite not seeing much use, the kitchen is indeed well-stocked. It has been some time (13.2 hours) since she last ate, so Ivy should. Consume something. She hesitates, realizing that she doesn’t know how to cook. What would require minimal preparation...Ivy starts rummaging through the cabinets, hoping to either find low-effort food or trigger recollection of some cooking knowledge.

“Looking for anything in particular?” Ivy turns to find Ashes watching her, amused.

"Uhm. Something that doesn't need to be cooked? For speed and efficiency, right now."

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, judging by their facial expression. Ivy tentatively identifies it as - insulted? "I'll have you know I am very quick and efficient."

"I mean. I have not eaten as recently as I should have. So I am attempting to rectify that in good time,” Ivy tries to clarify. It does not work, as Ashes’s frown deepens.

"Just pick the meat you want and I'll cook it for you. It'll take 2 minutes max."

_ Oh.  _ They’re offering to cook for her. Unexpected. Ivy files her reaction to that away for later examination, then realizes they’re still waiting for a response. “Ah - right.” Ivy randomly grabs some sort of poultry and offers it to them.

Ivy poorly suppresses a flinch as they breathe fire on the meat. Well, it’s definitely cooked now. Ediblity is a bit more dubious, but she’s not exactly picky. Nutritional variation is important, right? Ivy turns back to the cabinets and succeeds in finding dried fruit, then begins eating.

Ashes is watching her. Ivy can’t read their expression, so she attempts to calculate what they want. Conversation? People talk during meals, right? "So, you don't need to be in a more traditionally draconic form to breathe fire?"

“Nope. I only look human, I’m not actually.” Their scrutiny does not lessen. 

Ivy naturally studies them in turn. “So function does not follow form, then. Interesting.” They seem slightly uncomfortable under her gaze.

“Just eat.”

Ivy can recognize an order when she hears one, so she does. She focuses on her food, inescapably aware of the weight of their eyes on her. She finishes eating and cleans up from the meal, Ashes watching her every move. Afterwards, Ivy turns to them. “While you’re here, could you show me where the bedroom is?”   
“Sure.” They lead her further into the house area and open a door.

Ivy steps inside and sneezes. The bedroom, unsurprisingly, is even more dusty than the kitchen. “This will do. Thank you.” Ivy closes the door and heads back towards the library. She makes her way through the twisting corridors without making a single wrong turn.

There is a faint scrape of scales as Ashes follows her into the library. Ivy sits at the desk to work on translating the catalogue. She doesn’t know how she accidentally wrote the whole thing in Aeolic, but clearly she’ll need to pay more attention in the future. She considers for a moment, and then decides to simply write the Welsh translation on the other side of the preexisting cards.

Ivy spends hours in silence on this task. Gradually, her productivity drops, and she determines sleep would be wise. She stands, stretches, then jumps slightly when she turns and sees Ashes is still there. They’ve clearly been watching this entire time. At her startled reaction they smile, revealing all of their very impressive teeth.

“How do you normally spend your days? Watching me write in silence seems like it would be...boring?”

"Sleeping, mostly," Ashes admits. "Admiring my hoard. That sort of thing."

Ivy tilts her head to the side slightly. “Is that...satisfying? I suppose time would pass differently, for you, but...” It sounds miserable, she does not say.

“I like it well enough,” they respond with a shrug.

Ivy pauses for a moment, considering that. She doesn’t understand it, but then, she’s not a dragon. “I see.” She walks past them, heading towards the bedroom. She notes the faint jingling of gold as Ashes follows her. Ivy decides that she is too tired to care. She slowly makes her way to the room, shakes off the covers, and is asleep within minutes.

-

I vy wakes reluctantly at first, then bolts to her feet at the unfamiliar surroundings - where - ah. Right. She was introduced to her host yesterday. Ivy yawns, manages to find simple clothing that almost fits - she can deal with alterations later - showers, and goes in search of food. She pauses when she sees a sleeping dragon taking up most of the hall. This is...a dilemma. Wake them, or be further confirmed as a thief by sneaking past?

Ivy mentally shrugs and picks her way around Ashes to reach the kitchen. She notes their golden eyes open lazily at the most dramatic and ominous moment in her peripheral vision. Ivy ignores them. If they’re not going to initiate actual interaction, she’s going to have breakfast first. On the topic of breakfast, several items of food seem to have been placed on the counter for her convenience. Ivy smiles slightly. Actions speak louder than words, after all.

When she finishes eating, Ivy heads back towards the library. This naturally takes her past Ashes's position lurking in the hallway. "Good morning, Ashes."

“Hello, thief.”

Ivy frowns, but doesn’t stop walking. “As I told you yesterday, I am not a thief.”

“We’ll see.”

Sigh. “I suppose there’s no arguing with that.” Despite their words, she notes that they don’t follow her. First goal - translate the card catalogue. She sets to it.

Nineteen minutes after she begins, Ivy feels the ambient temperature rise as Ashes settles behind her. They don’t speak, so neither does she. Ivy does appreciate their proximity. The caves can get rather chilly, and Ashes is so very warm.

After sixty-two further minutes of silence, they speak. “How do you decide how to organize things?”

Ivy doesn’t react or stop working as she responds. “By subject matter, primarily, and then within those categories by date. If something has multiple categories that could be appropriate, I make note of that on the card for cross-referencing.”

“Hmm. Acceptable, I suppose. More logical than alphabetical, with multiple languages.”

“Or alphabetical by author,” Ivy scoffs. Their approval is...very satisfying. The quiet hadn’t been awkward, exactly, but now it’s genuinely pleasant.

When her right hand starts to cramp, Ivy switches to her left.

“Why are you slowing down?” Ivy glances back at Ashes and categorizes their expression as ‘concerned’.

“I may be ambidextrous, but I seem to be less practiced with this hand. Slowing allows me to keep the calligraphy quality consistent despite that.”

"Then why switch hands?"

“It’s cramping.” Ivy stretches the hand in question. “Muscle spasms from repeated motions. I’d spill the ink everywhere if I tried to continue with this hand.”

Ashes tilts their head, clearly confused. “Maybe you should...take a break?”

Ivy blinks at them as the suggestion fails to process. “I. What?”

"If you take a break to get your hand better, you'll be able to write faster again later, and you won't strain your other hand."

“It’s not a strain, and I am giving this hand a break,” Ivy argues. “I need practice to improve speed and precision in my left hand anyway.”

“Let me see.” Ashes shifts to their human form and reaches for Ivy’s hand. Ivy just looks at them for a moment, eyes wide, then obligingly holds out her right hand. They take it and massage her wrist. Their motions are a bit clumsy, but very gentle. Ivy notes that they are just as warm to the touch in this shape. "I won't have my archivist hurting herself. You're going to do something else now."

Ivy blinks, face heating slightly. “...all right.” For a long moment, neither of them move. Eventually, Ashes lets go of her hand. When they do, Ivy stands and works her way through the stacks of books to where she’s begun sorting through a large mound of tapestries. She can tell that they’re following.

Initial sorting by integrity. Some will definitely need restoration, but she doesn’t have the supplies right now. After that, by age, as approximated based on technique and design elements. As she works, Ivy starts mentally running through display and storage possibilities. What precautions will she need to take for preservation? Ivy apparently knows the damage time can do to textiles, but these works - despite the antiquity of their styles - have almost none of them. There’s no way ancient dyes should still hold fast so many thousands of years later, but the tapestries are very much not faded or worn.

"They won't fall apart," Ashes remarks, apparently guessing the source of her confusion.. "Not any more than they already have."

“I was going to ask about that, actually. Your collection is in remarkably good condition given its age, and I haven’t found any moth-eaten fabrics or silverfish in the books, which is nigh-impossible.”

“Part of being my Hoard. Nothing ages, as long as it stays with me.”

_ Fascinating _ . Ivy forces herself to not get lost pondering the potential implications and mechanisms of that bit of Old Magic. “Does that account for the lack of pests as well, or is there something else involved? Magical warding?”

“I’ve known a few witches in my time.” Unsurprising, but impressively useless. That might explain the wards, though. Now that she’s met Ashes, Ivy can tell that those aren’t their work. The magical signatures feel completely different.

Ivy gives them an unimpressed look. “As your archivist, the physical condition of your Hoard is now my business. I’d like to know if there are precautions in place I should be careful to not disrupt.”

"You already managed to avoid the necessary wards to get in. There are wards to keep you from leaving without my permission, but you won't have to worry about them, right? And none of this is so simple to disrupt as knocking over a few sticks or brushing through a painted circle."

Exciting. Back to thinly veiled threats. Clearly this is the wrong line of questioning to pursue at this time. Ivy takes a moment to consider. Probably best to not reveal the extent of her interaction with the wards, but her questions are still important. “That doesn’t answer my questions about arthropods, or mold, or other pest control. Also, is permission required for shopping trips? I’d like to make proper bookshelves but you don’t have the supplies on hand. Do those wards pick up on intent to return or are they not that complex?”

"Pest control and mold isn't going to be a problem. Permission and accompaniment is definitely required for shopping trips. In the meantime, get me a list of what you need and I can have it delivered. I don't trust you out on your own yet."

Ivy nods, turning back to her work. “Understood. It won’t be an issue if I ask for supplies but then later discover that you already had the item in question, right?” There’s so much of this lair she hasn’t yet explored. The realization that she could make a library was...rather distracting.

“Not at all. I'm not worried about cost."

“Good to know.” Ivy sorts through her to-do list. Card catalogue, textile sorting, bookshelves, book restoration tools, items to repair damaged tapestries, materials to alter clothing to actually Fit... “I’ll work on a list, then. Do you have a preferred material for bookshelves? Is - can your hoard burn?” Ivy feels somewhat silly as soon as she asks. If being designated as Hoard can fend off the effects of time itself, surely something as comparatively minor as fireproofing is also included.

Sure enough, she can hear Ashes poorly stifle a laugh. “It can not.”

Ivy blushes and does not look at them. “Preferred wood color or type for the bookshelves, then? I can calculate the optimal dimensions and how many will be necessary but if the aesthetics of the shelves are important to you I’d like to know.” Very smooth deflection. Flawless execution.

“I’d prefer a darker wood. But other than that, I’m not particularly picky.”

Ivy nods. “All right, then I’ll get you the specifics in a couple days with the rest of the list and leave you to negotiate the wood with whichever craftspeople you take it to. Similarly. Thoughts on textile display? I suppose if they can’t degrade there’s no need to worry about climate control, but. Hanging for the tapestries, obviously, but for smaller items would a book like for swatch samples suffice?” This discussion is revealing a good deal about her prior archival knowledge base.

“Whatever you think is proper. Book sounds fine.” Their voice comes from higher up this time, so they’ve clearly shifted back. Ivy absently notes that changing forms has very little effect on the quality of their voice - slight additional reverberation? Further observation required.

Ivy continues sorting the tapestries. When they are all in approximate age order, Ivy stretches her hands. Ah. Good to return to the catalogue translating, then. She sets down the last tapestry and heads back to her desk in the library. There is a faint temperature drop as Ashes leaves, presumably to nap on one of their piles of gold. Ivy sits quietly and loses herself in her work.

-

When Ashes awakens from their nap a few hours later, they are bored. Fortunately, they have a new solution to that constant plight. They saunter through their hoard to the newly-designated library. Ivy is still there working, as they knew she would be. “You need a break again.”

I vy turns and blinks up at them. “I do? My hand is fine.”

“You should take a break before it starts hurting you.” This is true, and does not involve them admitting to their boredom.

Ashes watches her pause to consider their argument. “...yes, you’re right.” Ivy sets the cards aside and stands, stretching. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to eat something, either.”

What, already? Hadn’t she eaten this morning? “How often do you have to eat?” 

“Far more frequently than you, I suppose. Humans have to eat daily, and we need a variety of different plants for nutritional purposes.”

Human diets seem complicated. Apparently Ashes will need to adjust their shopping habits. "I will add that to the list. I think I have some dried fruits in the pantry somewhere, but my diet is primarily meat."

Ivy heads towards the kitchen. “I had gathered as much. We can’t all be obligate carnivores.”

“I suppose not.” Ashes pads after her. 

They watch Ivy select some food from the cabinets, fill the kettle on the stove, and then continue to search for something. Eventually she emerges with tea. “Would you like to heat the water?” Ashes breathes fire on it, grinning when they hear the water start to boil within seconds. They’re a bit confused when Ivy waits for several minutes, then removes the tea strainer. That's entirely too long to wait for perfectly good tea, but they're willing to acknowledge that humans might not be able to handle it piping hot. 

Ivy is, again, searching the cabinets. “What are you looking for?”

“A cup? Or mug? Something smaller and more convenient to drink from. Also a necessity if more than one person wants to drink.”

"Oh, I guess that would be useful. I'm not sure I have anything like that in the kitchen." Ivy apparently gives up on finding a cup, instead grabbing a small bowl. That will work, they suppose, but…”Wait,” Ashes blurts out, then darts out of the kitchen.

Ashes seeks out a less-frequently visited pile and rummages through it. After a few moments, they find their quarry - a porcelain teacup, gilded with intricate floral patterns. They start to turn back to the kitchen, then pause. They take the time to dig up a second cup from the set. It’s only practical to have a cup for each person drinking. Ashes studies the craftsmanship as they walk. It’s a far more palatable topic than the fact that they are offering part of their Hoard to someone, however temporarily. They wordlessly hold the cups out to Ivy.

Ivy accepts the cups with a slightly surprised smile. “Thank you.” She pours the tea and offers Ashes one of the cups. Ashes takes it, and sips it. This is... very good. Less burnt than their usual. They watch Ivy eat, not yet touching her tea. She’s probably just waiting for it to cool enough for her fragile human body. They should not be worried that it’s been deemed unsatisfactory. However. “Is it...acceptable?” they ask after a few moments.

Ivy sips the tea, closing her eyes. “It’s very good. A nice blend.”

They’re glad she likes it, but this has backfired. Ashes does not actually know anything about tea. "Is it? Someone gave it to me, a while back. I don't normally drink much tea." 

“I mean. I like the taste? The different spices are in pleasant proportions? So I guess it’s good.”

"Your judgement is probably better than mine."

Ivy shrugs and keeps eating. Ashes continues to keep an eye on her. Or the teacup in her hand. Probably both. When she finishes, Ivy takes both cups and very carefully washes them, holding them back out to Ashes. Ashes takes them and clutches them close to their chest. They don't like Hoard being away from them. But they didn't mind it so much when it was for Ivy.

They refuse to examine that emotion as they follow her back to the library. As Ivy resumes translating, Ashes just kind of...curls around her work area. To keep an eye on her. That’s all.

Ivy works well into the early hours of the mornings before succumbing to sleep, nodding off at her desk. Ashes is. Concerned. They switch back to human form and carry her back to her room. Because obviously Thief does not get to sleep in Hoard. Ashes very firmly resists the urge to go sleep on her and claim her. They return to their favorite pile of gold to rest, inexplicably rattled.

-

Ivy is Very Surprised to awaken in the bedroom. She determines that it is more probable she was carried to bed than that she forgot about moving there under her own power. She...does not know what to do with that information. So she files it away. For future consideration.

Ashes knows the moment Ivy wakes up. They are Not Thinking About It. When she returns to the library, they are waiting, and once again settle in to watch her work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ydych chi'n rhugl yn y Gymraeg? - Do you speak Welsh?  
> "Mae'n debyg, ie. Byddaf yn ei ychwanegu at y rhestr." - Apparently, yes. I'll add it to the list.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are several revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains attempted self-harm, see end note for details.

The seventh day after she is officially introduced to her host, Ivy is left alone. Ashes has gone down to the village to deal with business. As much as Ivy is looking forward to having actual bookshelves, the lair feels remarkably cold and empty with them gone. Apparently she’s grown rather used to their proximity. Ivy frowns, mentally reprimanding herself. It’s only been a week, she shouldn’t be so reliant on their presence for her comfort.

This is as good a time as any to get clothing alterations out of the way. There are some very intriguing passages worn into the rock, and they’ll be easier to explore with properly fitting garments. Ivy decides to work in the kitchen for once - with the hearth, it’s the warmest area in the Ashes-less cave. She settles in for a productive day.

It’s possible that Ivy loses track of time. Rather badly. While attempting to make lunch. Which might be how she ends up setting her sleeve on fire.

There’s no pain, Ivy distantly notes, as she stares paralyzed at the flames consuming her arm. Then the scent of smoke hits, and things get rather...blurry.

-

When Ivy finally comes back to herself, her vision is blurry with tears. And, judging by the tightness in her chest, she’s in the middle of a panic attack. She curls up on the kitchen floor and tries to breathe.

When her pulse finally settles, she looks around the kitchen. It is not currently on fire. Well, no more so than it is supposed to be. Evidently she managed to extinguish the accidental blaze, mentally present or not.

So. There is a high probability that she has pyrophobia. This is a somewhat unfortunate thing to learn after she’s made arrangements with a fire-breathing dragon.

Ivy steels herself, then looks at the injured arm. Or rather. The arm that should be injured. She blinks, uncomprehending, at the completely unmarred flesh. She cautiously pokes her arm. Nothing. Could she have been hallucinating? No, the sleeve of her dress is definitely burnt. Very burnt. She should have at _least_ second-degree burns from that. How the fuck -

A thought occurs to her. Ivy bolts to her feet and runs over to the fireplace. She hesitates for a moment, then shoves her fear aside and her hand into the flames. 

She can feel the heat, but it’s muffled. It’s more like having one blanket too many than the overwhelming blistering **_pain_** that she knows she should feel.

Well. As...inconvenient as it is that she’s afraid of fire, at least it seems Ashes has accepted Ivy as part of their hoard. And Hoard can’t burn. Ivy sighs. She can work on overcoming the psychological barrier later. For now, she should probably get this mess cleaned up before Ashes comes home.

-

Ivy has been sorting through the hoard by item grouping, not by location. It’s the best method for her organizational preferences, even if it means her exploration of the depths has been somewhat irregular. It’s not odd that it takes her several months to stumble across a very unusual collection. It’s an eclectic assortment with no clear theme, including everything from whittling to needlework samplers. While some of them are quite old, none of them are particularly shiny or traditionally valuable. The craftsmanship is rudimentary. Childlike, even. Many seem to be addressed as gifts in one way or another.

Ivy sits to go through the pile, lost in thought. Eventually, she hears Ashes join her. There is a slight hesitation in their steps when they see what she’s looking at. Odd. Ivy doesn’t look up at them, tracing her fingers over a square of uneven fabric woven from somewhat irregularly spun threads. “...tell me about these?”

Ashes hesitates before answering. "People tend to...well, you've seen. They tend to treat me like a minor god. Usually the offerings are food, or livestock, or flowers, practical things that I can't hoard, but sometimes - it's almost always children - they leave gifts like this." They sound oddly hesitant. Almost...ashamed? That can’t be right.

“They make you things,” Ivy says softly. That answer does certainly clarify the pile’s diversity. The consistent element among all the items is that they’re something a small child or young apprentice clearly worked very hard on.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll need your help with these. It can be harder to determine age for items that aren’t high fashion, and. If you are able to provide them, some details about the creators would also be lovely.” These are...Ivy knows that it’s often the work of masters, of the rich and powerful that gets preserved. These are an invaluable find, especially if Ashes is able to help her with the background information. Ivy doesn’t know why they kept them - politeness, maybe? - but it’s an incredible find.

Ashes audibly perks up at that. "You think these are worth archiving?" 

“Obviously. If I wanted to pretend the common people didn’t exist, I would have gone to some stuck-up noble’s private collection.” Maybe these are uncommon items for a dragon to hoard. They certainly don’t fit the stereotype of shiny and expensive, which would explain Ashes’s odd reactions when they found Ivy studying them.

Ashes grins and settles in beside her, picking up a needlework sampler. "Well, this one is about three hundred years old. From a girl in a village about three days flight west. Eveline, I think her name was? I only met her once or twice. She was about six at the time..."

They continue in this manner for several hours, telling Ivy about different pieces, and as much as they can remember about their creators. She remembers every word to write in the label cards later. Ivy is impressed by how much they clearly care about these gifts and the people who made them. Ashes gradually goes from a bit stilted and nervous to unabashedly fond.

As the hours pass, Ivy has to work to remain focused on their words instead of just the fondness in their voice. Her breath catches as she realizes the, ah. Ramifications of her current emotions. She pushes that aside. Archiving first. Panicking over a crush on a dragon - _her dragon_ , a voice in the corner of her mind reminds her unhelpfully - can come later.

Ashes apparently notices some shift in her demeanor. They pause in their storytelling, looking at Ivy with blatant concern. “Is something wrong?”

Ivy really doesn’t want to burden them with a probably unreciprocated crush. Especially before she has the chance to actually sort through it herself. “Sorry, I. Can spiral, sometimes? And...just, well. Realized how badly things would have gone for me if it hadn’t been you.” This is not a lie. The realization of how lucky she was has haunted Ivy for a while. Lucky to be within walking distance of Ashes, lucky that they didn’t just immolate her for daring to set foot in their hoard, impossibly fortunate that they care for humans as much as they do…

Ashes frowns at her. "Well, it was me, and now I'll protect you."

Ivy smiles softly at them, trying to quash the warmth that sentiment sparks in her. “I know.”

Ashes moves a bit closer to her and continues talking about their hoard. Ivy basks in their presence as she listens, recording every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation of warning: Ivy puts her hand in a fire to check whether she is now fireproof (the answer is yes).


End file.
